


& Wild & Sweet

by builtofsorrow (kocham)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-06
Updated: 2008-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 12:33:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kocham/pseuds/builtofsorrow





	& Wild & Sweet

Tom walks through the door one night to be greeted by the familiar melody of an old Christmas carol. The table in the kitchen is chairless, and he walks through to the living room to find that their Christmas tree has been turned into a supporting pillar of a blanket fort, and the only thing that keeps him from laughing is that the one thing he's entirely certain of is how much he doesn't want to break the spell of the scene.

\-----

'What if one of these blankets catches on fire?' he's asking, several minutes later. He's coatless and shoeless and kneeling by Martha's feet at the 'doorway' he's created by holding back one of the blankets.

She laughs, softly, and doesn't look at him. 'My Mum used to say that.'

'Oy,' Tom says, laughing too. 'Shutting up then.'

'Mmm,' Martha says, distractedly. She's lying with her head under the branches, the fingers of one hand playing carefully with some of the lights, and it takes Tom a moment to realise that he hasn't actually moved for awhile, so he crawls in and stretches out on his stomach beside her.

He's half afraid to touch her, but she moves first, rolling her head to its side to meet his eyes and smiling in a manner that's half delighted and half pleading for indulgence.

'Hi,' he whispers.

'Hi,' she whispers back, reaching up her free hand to stroke his cheek, and Tom turns his head to brush it with his lips before moving carefully to turn over onto his back and lay his head by hers underneath the tree branches.

Neither one speaks for awhile, and Tom's actually a bit startled when Martha's voice breaks into his thoughts over the introductory strains of _O Come, O Come, Emmanuel_.

'Tish and Leo and I used to do this every year until-' she breaks off, and Tom doesn't need to ask what stopped the tradition (because he can't even fathom what he'd do, much less _say_ , if his family ever shattered the way hers had). Their fingers are intertwined in the space between them, and he tightens his grip on her hand and says nothing. Finally, she continues: 'It felt like magic back then. I- I thought maybe I could recapture that.'

Tom reaches up into a branch and grasps a light between his thumb and forefinger. 'I used to think it was magic, the way I could see through my fingers like this.' He increases and decreases the pressure of his fingers so that the glow created through his skin brightens and fades in an almost-rhythm. 

Martha follows his lead, grinning after a moment, and murmuring, 'I think it works better for you. I'm not so transparent.'

Tom laughs. 'I did eventually realise I couldn't _actually_ see through my fingers with fairy lights, you know. Magic or no.'

'I _did_ have a growing concern for your patients.'

They fall into silence again after a moment, and Tom isn't sure how much time has passed when he looks over at Martha again, but he wishes he'd done it sooner, because her eyes are closed and her hair is haloed in the light and her face is possibly one of the most peaceful things he's ever seen (and it's one of those moments when his breath literally catches in his throat to think of how perfect she is).

'You asleep?' he finally manages to whisper, cautious as he does so.

'Nooo,' she murmurs. 'But nearly. Don't leave, though?'

'I wouldn't dream of it.'


End file.
